USD Magazine, Fall 1992

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uneasiness, he entered St. Francis' Seminary. It was a step that led to a 20-year involvement with USD, a place Father Dolan still talks about in glowing, wistful terms. "I loved USD. I never thought I would leave," he says. "I was heart– broken when Bishop Maher sent me to Resurrection Church in Escondi– do. But it was really fortunate, because being forced to leave USD gave me the courage to join the Franciscans." Losing both of his parents helped cement the decision. "Larry lived for his parents, and they lived for him," says Father Peter McGuine '86.

plans for their children-plans that did not include the priesthood. "When Francis' father found out he wanted to be a religious, he chained him to the cellar in the house," Father Dolan laughs. "My parents' reaction wasn't that strong, but they were disappointed. They wanted me to be successful, finan– cially and socially." Hid ar,n move.:1 to

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t is when we get caught up in the material things around us that we lose sight of God, Father Dolan says. He should know. "When I was drinking, I was a self-centered perfectionist who loved things," he admits. "The whole time I was a diocesan priest I never gave a homily on materialism. Never. That's because I was living it." Father Barry Vinyard, a longtime Dolan acquaintance and USD's cur– rent chaplain, elaborates. "You have to understand about Larry. We're

take in the .1prawli11g de.:Jert and .1eeniingly enole.:J.1 horizon.

"They were his com– munity. When they died, he didn't have anybody left." Father Dolan says their deaths made him ask himself, "Do you want to live the rest of your life and not do what you really want?" He spent the next year talking to the Franciscans. He even went to Assisi to pray at the grave of St. Francis. As he grew more and more excit–

talking about a guy who had his vest– ments made in Italy, his clothes tailor– made. He was the most elegant guy I knew. That's why everyone thought he was nuts to join the Franciscans, because they take a vow of poverty." Even the Francis– cans. "They didn't want anything to do with me," Father Dolan says. "They knew what I was like, and they

ed about becoming a Franciscan, the order grew more and more puzzled. Even after he entered the order, they thought he was acting on a lark. They decided to test him by sending him to Guaymas, Mexico. Guaymas is a city built on a dump. The people who live there survive by scavenging. "When I first got there, I was horrified," Father Dolan says. "It was filthy. There was no running water. I thought I had made the biggest mistake of my life. But two weeks later, I was in love with the people and the simplic– ity of their faith.

"They .1ee fir.1tband the awe.:1omene.1.1 of Goo."

couldn't for the life of them figure out why I wanted to join them." But the urge to join the Francis– cans was not a mid-life crisis or a penance for years of excess. "I had always felt a tugging at my heart for the Franciscans. There was a peace and gentleness there that I had never found anywhere else. Even as a boy, I always related to Francis." Ironically, there are parallels in the lives of the two men. Both were sons of wealthy parents who had big

They were disappointed, says Sis– ter Helen Lorch, RSCJ, a retired history professor and good friend of Father Dolan's, "because Larry is absolutely brilliant. He could have been anything he wanted to be." What he wanted to be was a priest. So despite his parents'